


I don't need your fidelity (don't look away)

by redlightofdawn



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: ...there's quite a lot of porn in this fyi, Exhibitionism, Exhibitionist Jaskier, F/M, Featuring: The Sad Wank, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Relationship Negotiation, They are idiots but they love each other, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeur Geralt, Voyeurism, deconstructing jealousy, ethical non-monogamy, not unrequited love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 21:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlightofdawn/pseuds/redlightofdawn
Summary: Jaskier knows that sometimes just wanting someone is not enough to make things work in a relationship. Geralt isn't so sure about that.*Or the one where Geralt watches and wanks, Jaskier tries to be the mature one and somehow in the process ends up bringing a lot of people off, and showing off to boot. Eventually, everything works out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	I don't need your fidelity (don't look away)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I mentioned in [like a river flows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529375)  
> that it took me a few tries to write the "Geralt Falls First" fic I wanted. This here is one of the attempts that weren't it. It ended up more firmly in the "Geralt is the one to push for a relationship" side of things, however.  
> This fic is almost completely written, mostly it needs some editing, so I shouldn't be too long to update.  
> ETA: this doesn't get addressed in story until a bit later, but just so it is clear, all OCs are relatively aware of what's going on and consent to it. Fret not.

Geralt didn't usually suffer from an inflated sense of self worth. Being despised by the general population tended to have that effect on an individual. He was hyper aware of his limitations and realistic about his successes. Pragmatism was how a Witcher kept his head.

It was the same when it came to relationships, or the lack thereof. Whores bedded him for coin. Some, rare as they were, desired to bed him for the privilege of saying they had seen a Witcher's cock.

His drew some attention from time to time, too. Geralt knew partners deemed that part of him specially pleasing, though he had also been refused on the basis of it.

Romantic relationships were… they weren't, mostly. Yennefer had come closest, and still he'd been insufficient. He could not give her what she'd wanted, and what he could, she had not wanted. They had ended up better as co-parents than a couple.

He could realise, now, that he had more friends than he would previously have thought, mostly thanks to Ciri, and there was the Child Surprise herself, of course. But Ciri’s presence in his life, for all it had been a positive, made him even more aware of his own limitations - that he kept too much in, and let it explode over others when it got to be too much. How much he had hurt those who had cared for him.

Yes, Geralt was quite aware of his flaws, in general and when it came to as a partner.

But that is all to say, that despite all this, when Geralt kisses Jaskier for the first time, he feels pretty confident of its welcome. He has known Jaskier for literal decades. The man had seen what Geralt had to offer and deemed it sufficient - or more than that, if you believed his songs - and he'd stuck around.

The looks of desire also could not be ignored. They had been plentiful and constant, for all Jaskier had never done anything about it. He wanted Geralt. And he _knew_ Geralt.

Geralt had been the one keeping them, holding them apart, he knows. He can’t blame Jaskier - Geralt thinks, as lips meet and he can finally _taste_ Jaskier - for not making the first move, not when Geralt had pushed him away so many times.

It takes Geralt far too long to understand what is happening when, after a moment of reciprocation, Jaskier expertly gentles the urgent kiss and, finally, steps back, his hands gently placed on Geralt’s chest, holding him in place.

Holding him _back_.

"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier says, his eyes closed and cheeks rosy, despite the brevity of the kiss. "We shouldn't."

Geralt feels cold and sluggish, his reactions delayed, such an oddity for a Witcher, always fast reflexes. Geralt’s mind spins and the feeling of rejection burns in his stomach.

"You want to," Geralt finds himself saying, somewhat dumbly. It is true, at least to some extent. Jaskier smells even stronger of lust than usual, and even as his hands seem to be keeping Geralt away, they cling to his shirt, ready to pull him back in, contradictory emotions also reflected upon the bards face. Geralt feels turned on his head and confused.

"Yes," Jaskier admits easily, lessening the sting, though not completely. "I have wanted you for a really long time, Geralt. Dreamed of it, even, composed ballads about it, in fact."

"You have?" he finds himself asking, eyebrows up in surprise, despite himself.

"And sang them at court, too." Jaskier sounds glib and bright, but Geralt hears the strain under it. He files that information for later analysis, forcing himself back to reality. To the fact that Jaskier was, gently but certainly, turning him down.

"Then… why?"

"Because I am not about to hurt you just because I want you."

Geralt looks down pointedly at where Jaskier's hands are on his chest, ostensibly holding him back. They are resting against his not negligible pectorals, and Jaskier's hands look almost dainty against him. There's no pretending Jaskier is doing anything other than what Geralt allows. Jaskier seems to follow his train of thought, and snorts briefly, though his face returns quickly to the strange serious one Geralt does not enjoy.

"I don't mean that. I mean…" One of his hands releases Geralt’s shirt, long enough to gesture vaguely around themselves, indicating nothing in particular in the unremarkable inn room they find themselves in, only to return to his chest. "Well, emotionally, I suppose."

Geralt raises his eyebrows again, deliberately this time.

"Geralt, I'm going to be strictly candid with you, because I care and want nothing to fester between us. We have known each other for decades. If this was merely wanting to fuck me - which would be well within your rights, I mean, to want that - anyway, if it was only that, you would have done it ages ago. Preferably when I was a nubile 20 year old, so maybe I had even a bit of a chance of keeping up with your doubtless incredible stamina.” Jaskier pauses to wink at Geralt, but before the witcher has had time to even start digesting that, he is already back to his tirade.

"But we are friends, Geralt. And for all you enjoyed denying it, I do know you treasure that. You wouldn't risk it for a tumble, not after all this time."

Geralt doesn't say anything, loathe to agree. But Jaskier is not wrong. Geralt has wanted him for a while, he just never wanted to risk things, not until now. Not until earlier that day, as he had watched Jaskier play for a group of children, sun shining in his hair and setting off the distinguished silver starting to overtake the bard’s temples. Geralt had felt the years at that moment, in a way a Witcher rarely did, and then Jaskier had looked up, a smile still in his lips as he laughed along with the children, and motioned Geralt over. And just like that, his objections had finally seemed to melt away into the wind, leaving nothing to hold him back anymore.

"And Geralt, I love you, but I don't think I would be good for you, not like that."

Geralt closes his eyes. The ugly feeling in his stomach settles, if only a bit, and Geralt lets his hands cover Jaskiers's own, tips his forehead to come to rest against the shorter man's. Jaskier does nothing to stop it. He takes a moment to absorb the word like a soothing balm, though it feels like trying to tend to a burn while he is still on fire.

"Why." It is a plea more than a question, even Geralt will admit it, if only to himself, upon hearing the broken sound coming from him. A hand disentangles from his and touches his cheek gently, but still Geralt doesn't open his eyes. Jaskier answers it anyway, though it seems to pain him to do so.

"I can't be just yours, Geralt. It is not in my nature. I have tried, before, to so much heartache. I don't want to do that to you. To us."

The words don’t hit him like a slap - no, that would be a short, concentrated sting. They hurt like systemic shock, like mutagen poisoning - burning from inside, the type of pain you cannot imagine ending one day. Of course, Geralt would never be enough, especially not for someone like Jaskier.

The step back he takes is practically subconscious.

Enough for a travel companion, a friend, even, but not-

"Geralt, please!” The bard’s voice, powerfull from training and use, pierces Geralt's spiral. “Listen to me instead of going off inside your head.” Blue eyes have somehow found his, and are waiting anxiously for a reaction. Geralt nods, after a moment. Jaskier nods back, licking his lips as if to give himself a moment to think before finally breaking eye contact. “It's… it's not about you. You're the only one I'd even consider for any sort of lasting relationship, at this point in my life. I wish, so badly, we could be together. But I won't be selfish. I won't have both of us hurt."

"We could try," Geralt's voice is hollow, and he knows the answer before he even says it. Vesemir likes to joke Geralt made it his life’s work to surround himself with people as stubborn as him, after all. Still, Jaskier's head shake brings on another pang of rejection.

"I'd be miserable but not admit it because I wanted so badly to make it work. And then I'd slip and make a mistake and hurt you. And Geralt, you don't understand how hurting you would be painful to me. How painful this, right now, is being."

Geralt feels his jaw clench. Part of him wants to walk away, never to be seen again, and be done with this mess. But he knows he can't do that, that he needs to stop walking away. Ciri had taught him that. And then hit him around the head with it enough until the lesson stuck.

" _I_ could try." It... doesn't sound appealing, Geralt will be the first to admit. He had spent so long watching Jaskier disappear with others only to return reaking of sex and their odours. And Geralt had fantasized, that if only he could, then he'd wisk the bard away from all that, to himself, where he'd be only his. He’s not sure finally having the bard would be enough to ease the ache of knowing he wasn't the only one.

"It's cruel to ask you to change, Geralt." His eyes are pleading, and he still hasn't released Geralt's wrist. "As cruel as it is to ask me to change, and as unlikely to work.” Geralt fights the impulse to flinch away and the desire to lean into the touch when Jaskier caresses his cheek, the soft touch insufficient to take away the sting of his words. “I know you, Geralt. You are possessive. Territorial with what is yours. You don’t even like people to touch your horse, Geralt! She owed you nothing, you said so yourself, and still, seeing noble and shitless sir Eyck bending over for Yennefer nearly drove you spare.” Jaskier takes a deep breath, having grown agitated during his speech, his hands leaving Geralt to gesticulate emphatically. When he continues, his voice is back at a gentle, lower register. "And there's nothing wrong with that, Geralt. It is just not how I work."

"Jas-"

“Please, Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice is low, barely above a whisper, as he interrupts the witcher. “I can’t have you and lose you, Geralt. Knowing I hurt you would break me.” He took another deep breath as Geralt, speechless, watched. “Please, let's forget this. Go back."

Geralt can't deny him. He steps back, slowly this time, and Jaskier doesn’t try to stop him. Geralt doesn't say anything more before leaving the room, but he knows Jaskier doesn't expect it.

* * *

True to Jaskier’s words, they don’t talk about it. However, the idea of “going back” turns out to be as laughable in practice as it had sounded when Jaskier suggested it. There's a new tension clouding all their interactions, now, and Geralt curses himself for it repeatedly.

The only thing that alleviates matters is, paradoxically, that they are both _trying_ , acting out a forced nonchalance as if to refuse to accept any awkwardness. Jaskier’s wide, strained smiles don’t make Geralt forget, but they do indicate the bard _cares_. For all he’s rejected Geralt, he still desires the witcher’s company, still worries about _them_. It would have to be enough - _as had been before_ , Geralt reminded himself sternly.

* * *

There’s another thing that definitely changes.

Before - even before he realised how he felt about the bard - Geralt had never let himself linger overmuch on Jaskier's courting of others. Told himself it was only polite, a matter of privacy, even if Jaskier himself seemed to not give a single toss about such manners.

Before, he'd let his eyes skip over the bard when he had a serving maid on his lap or a young fisherman whispering by his ear as he played.

Geralt makes a point of watching, now.

* * *

Geralt's considerably drunk the first time it happens.

It’s the first decent sized settlement they’ve run across in a while - since the whole… proposition incident. There was only one tavern, but it was sufficiently spacious that Geralt had been able to find himself a secluded corner not in Jaskier’s direct line of sight, the bard prancing away as he performed on the raised dais near the bar. Still, Geralt was able to keep an eye out on the troublesome bard as he set to his task with single minded determination.

Geralt had arrived at the tavern fully intending to get blackout drunk, and so he proceeds.

Still, when the time comes, there’s still some finesse left in him despite the alcohol, probably the years of lessons on stealth drilled by his instructors. He does his best to be discreet, not to be obvious with his staring.

But he watches.

Watches as fingers caress the bard’s arms, hands, even neck if they happen to be particularly brave; as lips brush against ears with whispered promises and innuendo; as carefully seductive laughter fills the air.

But most of all, he watches Jaskier. Watches the bard soak it all in and respond, watches and learns how he looks when the advances are welcome, the signs that he has chosen his potential bedmate - tonight, a petite brunette, from the looks of it.

Jaskier is leaning over to whisper into the woman’s ear, carefully brushing her hair away with caressing fingers, when his eyes, by chance, find Geralt’s.

Geralt doesn’t look away, despite the electric shock that runs up his spine and down his arms to his fingertips.

He can’t quite say he feels regret about it when Jaskier pales and, looking embarrassed, makes his excuses from the woman, but Geralt never claimed to be a particularly good person.

There is, however, shame burning in his stomach that night, as he lays in his bed awake while Jaskier - alone and smelling of frustration and a whiff underlying sadness - sleeps on.

* * *

It’s not enough to keep Geralt from doing it again the next time they find themselves in a big enough village. And the next. And the next. Always to the same results.

If Geralt is honest with himself, he knows his behavior is one of the reasons the tension between him and Jaskier has yet to break. The poet doesn’t bring it up, the same way he hasn’t complained about being pent up, even though he would have, after so long without company. He’s always hesitant around Geralt the morning after it happens, however, as if looking to see if he’d hurt the witcher with his actions - _ironic_ , Geralt thinks, when he’s the one causing the bard misery.

But he can’t stop.

* * *

Eventually, however, the tension snaps.

* * *

It's a barely bearded youth that breaks Jaskier's resolve.

The man is tall and broad despite his apparent youth, and, above all, determined. Geralt can’t help but be faintly amused as the youth doggedly trails Jaskier around the tavern the whole night, heedless of the bard’s skillful evasions. Normally, Geralt would have stepped up to intervene at such a display, but he can see that though the bard is flustered, the attention isn’t exactly unwelcome, which is probably feeding the youths determination.

Geralt’s still surprised when the boy drags Jaskier close by the front of his doublet so he can purr a crude proposition into the bard’s ear, loud enough that Geralt’s enhanced hearing can pick it up across the busy tavern.

Geralt watches as a shiver runs through the bard, who then visibly gives in and accepts.

* * *

Jaskier doesn’t come up to Geralt and ask him to watch his lute and coin, as it would have been his usual - he's had to run and been scammed enough times to know both will only cause trouble when he's feeling amorous. Jaskier simply takes the youth’s hand and leads him to the tavern’s exit, a determined set to his shoulders.

He does not look back at Geralt even once.

* * *

That night, Geralt lies alone in bed on his back, sleepless. He had heard what the boy had offered Jaskier quite clearly, even if the free choice of hole to fuck had been worded rather clumsily, and it’s plagued his mind ever since.

Endless possibilities of positions and acts and settings play in his mind almost as if without his input. Despite knowing such stereotypes to be nonsense, when he allowed himself to dwell on it, Geralt had always fallen into imagining Jaskier as the receptive partner when bedding men. The boy tonight had clearly had other ideas, however.

He finds the image of Jaskier, bare and glistening with a sheen of sweat, as he fucks into a bent-over faceless male body particularly and surprisingly arresting, even more so when he allows himself to imagine the body to take on a less faceless appearance, smooth muscle being replaced by scars and silver hair.

With a grunt, Geralt turns in bed, and his breath catches sharply when his erection presses into the bedding.

He shouldn't be aroused. Geralt forces himself to imagine the youth back in place, on his back as Jaskier works his hips gracefully, if firmly. His erection flags slightly, but not as much as he would have expected.

The young man had been attractive, Geralt justifies to himself even as he can’t help but work his hips slightly against the firm straw mattress. Not what he might have gone for, personally - too young, firstly, and Geralt tended to favour darker colouring rather than the youth's bright blonde curls.

His erection, apparently not feeling all that picky tonight, throbs when he imagines Jaskier taking the man upon his other offer, fucking into his mouth with a nearly violent abandon that Geralt knows is probably unrealistic. The bard is a hedonist and a sensualist, and seemed to treat his lovers gently, if vigorously, from what Geralt had seen and heard - if the long duration of his trysts and enthusiastic sounds that tended to emanate from his rooms are any indication, at least.

Realistic or not, the imagery has him unconsciously reaching down between him and the bed, and the warm pressure of his palm against his erection, both better and worse than the unyielding bed, rips a grunt from him.

Any resolve not to touch himself doesn't last much longer before he is angling his hips away from the bed for some maneuvering space and taking himself in hand.

He's done this with Jaskier in mind more than he cares to admit, though he usually had some scruples about it, even if he'd admit those had slacked with time. At first, he had refused to imagine any sex happening, but eventually his own image had started to show up, unbidden. But never with other people. Especially not Jaskier's actual conquests. To do so without Jaskier’s knowledge had seemed like an intrusion, not unlike taking himself in hand to sounds leaking in through thin walls would have been.

He lets himself do so now.

The hand working in the cramped space between his hips and the bed is not gentle, tugging harshly at him, his grip just this side of too tight. Geralt doesn’t deserve gentle, he thinks, not when he is abusing himself to thoughts of his friend and this night’s conquest. Not when he had been putting a stick through the wheels of any flirtation Jaskier had managed over the last few weeks, all because if Geralt couldn’t have him,

Though, Geralt thinks even as his hand speeds up and his mind’s eye lingers on the imaginary tears running down the man’s face while imaginary Jaskier tugs him and holds him down on his cock, was that all? He can’t deny he is enjoying Jaskier’s flirtation now, however peripherally.

He loses the train of thought as he grips himself even tighter, feeling his balls draw up, while in his mind Jaskier is taking himself in hand, intent to mark the youth’s face clear in his slanted smile and filthy words.

Geralt comes to the image of Jaskier running his thumb through the mess.

* * *

The smell of spent and male musk is still thick in the air, at least to Geralt's Witcher nose, when Jaskier makes his way back to the room. Geralt has no idea if Jaskier can smell it, but he finds himself hoping he does.

Hoping Jaskier knows what Geralt was doing while he was off with the other man.

Distracted by his train of thought, it takes him a couple moments to realise Jaskier smells… odd. Not the usual mix of sex and sweat and other people's scent, not to say fluids.

Geralt can still detect all that, but it is strangely dulled and overlaid with a familiar odour, but so out of place if take Geralt a few moments to place it as stale water and horse.

His mood sours as he listens to Jaskier stumble his way into the room, clearly trying to be silent but failing miserably. Apparently Jaskier had tried to erase the evidence of his actions, something Geralt had never seen him do before - even when it might’ve saved them a lot of trouble. It prickles at Geralt strangely. Jaskier shouldn't have to; he had always been unapologetic of his habits, for better or for worse. The idea that Geralt’s own unwanted advances would be the reason Jaskier changes is one that chases away any relaxation left over from his earlier wank and sets like a weight in his stomach.

Geralt forces himself to slow his breathing further and clear his mind in preparation for meditation, even as Jaskier settles into his own bed, only a couple of feet away. Geralt knows himself, knows he will be unable to sleep, and is unwilling to succumb to his overthinking.

He can hear Jaskier attempt to quietly toss and turn before he manages to slip into the trance.

* * *

The next morning, Jaskier is up before Geralt, if the empty room is anything to go by. It has happened so few times in all the time they had travelled together that Geralt finds himself questioning if he had imagined the bard's return the previous night, until his eyes alight on the lute case carefully put away under Jaskier’s bed. Still, Jaskier was usually loud enough in the mornings to wake Geralt up pretty immediately - it’s enough to make him wonder if Jaskier had slept at all.

When Geralt makes his way downstairs to the tavern, sure enough, Jaskier is there. There's a plate in front of him - the bread has been torn to bits, but other than that appears mostly untouched, unless the kitchen is in the habit of serving portions so big they’d make even Geralt feel a little full.

He can see the tension in the bard's body even from a distance - his shoulders are held so high as to nearly touch his ears, and he is strangely slumped forward. Another weight settles in Geralt’s stomach at the sight and with the certainty that his previous guess about the amount of sleep Jaskier got the previous had been correct or near enough.

With a silent sigh, Geralt pushes his own confusing feelings down, packs them away with all the others, and makes his way across the tavern, letting his feet fall a little heavier on the floor and his sword clink characteristically against the buckles of his belt, hopefully enough that his approach won’t come as a surprise to Jaskier.

"Good morning," Geralt says, and places a hand on Jaskier's shoulder. It feels awkward - Jaskier had always touched him much more freely than Geralt had touched him back, but he needs to let the bard know… Let him know that…

 _Fuck_ , he can’t even elaborate it to himself. Hopefully the gesture will get the message through, because Geralt knows he sure as fuck won’t be able to otherwise.

Jaskier's whole body flinches when Geralt touches him, but as soon as he registers who the hand belongs to, his entere self seems to relax, the tension melting away as he turns around and smiles tentatively up at Geralt. Geralt let's his hand drop.

If he offers his own mockery of a smile in return, then no one other than them needs to know it.

"Geralt! Good morning," Jaskier says, and really, Geralt doesn't need any of his enhanced senses to know Jaskier is nervous, it is written clearly in the tightness of the lines around his mouth, in the way his fingers tap out a beat on the table without his notice, only to stop so he can rub his thumb against his signet ring.

"Not hungry?" Geralt asks, awkwardly, nodding at the plate, before making his way around the table to sit. Jaskier looks down quickly with a confused look on his face, as if he had forgotten about its existence.

"Ah, no, don't suppose I am," he says quickly, looking at Geralt, searching. Geralt does his best to keep his expression impassive, even if the scrutiny makes him wish he could avert his eyes. "Is.. Is everything alright?" Jaskier finally asks, voice oddly quiet in a way that sits ill with Geralt and with Jaskier’s whole… existence.

"Yes," Geralt says, softly and as earnestly as he can. It is only partially faked. Above all, it _is_ what he wants.

"Good," Jaskier says, and his smile is real and relieved, now. He pushes his abandoned plate towards Geralt. "Breakfast?"

"Hmm," Geralt says, before popping a piece of bread into his mouth.

* * *

Somehow, however, things start to go back to normal. The forced cheer gives way to genuine amusement, the excessive politeness fades into fond teasing and old habits, and slowly, but surely, the awkwardness lifts. Within a couple of weeks they are laughing together around the campfire again, even if things.

Geralt's heart aches through it all, but that’s besides the point.

* * *

Jaskier doesn’t try to deny himself nor to hide his nightly activities again, at least as far as Geralt can tell - for all the joking about his own age and stamina, the frequency of his appetites has always seemed unchanged from Jaskier's younger days. Which means that whenever they stay in town, Jaskier more often than not takes someone upon their offer of a shared evening.

Geralt doesn’t understand why Jaskier insists on spending the coin on a shared room when he could be saving himself quite a lot by spending the night with his trysts. Geralt has done the math, and Jaskier would be saving even if he chose to rent a single room on the nights he struck out. Geralt, of course, would come off the worse, in that case... but that’s all unimportant.

The hesitancy and nerves from the morning after Jaskier’s break in his compelled celibacy streak, however, take longer to fade - but surely enough, they do. Little by little, the tension that had clouded their every interaction recedes.

And Geralt... Geralt doesn’t stop watching.

* * *

Jaskier seems surprised to find Geralt's eyes on him when he pulls a busty redhead to his lap, same way he had every time he’d spotted Geralt watching him so far, but sure enough, it’s an even briefer reaction than last time. His cheeks flush, but that might be from the way the woman squirms deliberately in his lap. She is uncommonly pretty and delicately done up for such an isolated rural village, so slight in Jaskier's lap that he looks downright hulking in comparison. It's a shock to Geralt, who is so used to thinking of Jaskier as the delicate one, for lack of a better word, at least in comparison to himself, but he finds it's not an unpleasant one. Jaskier’s hand covers the maid’s hip upon which it rests easily, but for all it’s relative size, the one that tips her chin up for a kiss is gentle, barely more than a caress necessary to achieve the bard’s goal.

As for Geralt, the tendril of heat at the sight of their lips touching, hungry for all the previous delicacy, is no less surprising than it had been all the previous times.

He feels a sudden impulse to leave - whether to his room, to touch himself, or to the nearest troublesome monster and then never to be seen again, he is not so sure, but he forces himself to stay. And staying meant watching.

It's late, later than he likes to allow himself to linger. Normally he would have been in his room already, but he hadn't wanted to leave before Jaskier. And now, he doesn't want his leaving to be misconstrued, he tells himself. Doesn’t want to make things awkward, Geralt thinks, even as he watches the kiss break and the woman let out a breathy sigh against Jaskier’s lips.

The tavern is fairly emptied out by then, only a trio of youths playing cards to the other side, and a couple of sleeping drunks slumped without elegance against and across various surfaces of the establishment. The matron has long retreated to the kitchens, no doubt dozing near the fire until she was needed.

Geralt wonders if Jaskier and his companion will be long to leave to wherever they will be spending their time together, as he watches them. He wonders briefly if he should… offer Jaskier the room. He never has, before, but it could be a gesture. Or something, he thinks idly, as he takes the tankard to his lips, his eyes unmoving as the woman, a devious smile upon her lips, rolls her hips far too enthusiastically for such a public place.

The corner where Jaskier and the redhead sit is shadowed, a ways away from where the other patrons, including Geralt, are, but his mutated eyes hardly register it. It's certainly not enough that Geralt can't see when Jaskier - in a very discreet and probably highly trained maneuver, Geralt will grant him that - slides a hand up the woman's skirt.

Geralt is pretty sure he can tell the moment Jaskier's fingers slide inside her, her sharp intake of breath and the fresh waft of female arousal pretty damning clues.

For the first time since this started, Geralt looks deliberately away. He is hard beneath the table and he feels a demented impulse to touch himself.

He steals another look at the pair. Her cheeks are ruddy, and the expression on her face is such that anyone with half a mind to look would recognize what is going on, but no one as much as glances at their corner. She seems close already, to Geralt's surprise - Jaskier seems to be able to back his erstwhile boasting about his prowess in the bedroom. But then again, he adds, as he watches her face flicker through expressions of pleasure, her moans are just a hint too loud, too open for such a situation. The idea of being watched, or the risk of being caught, was probably arousing to her, contributing to her rush to the peak.

His eyes leave her face to glance up, and Geralt is shocked to find cornflower blue eyes fixed on him.

Geralt looks away as if slapped, his heartbeat spiking as if he had spotted a threat among them.

His eyes are still averted when he hears a familiar voice sigh softly, followed shortly by the telltale smell of seed and a much more feminine sounding moan - loud enough one of the closer sleeping patrons tosses in their sleep before settling down with a snore.

By the time Geralt's heartbeat slows down and he dares glance back, Jaskier is already gone.

* * *

That night, Geralt wakes briefly confused, before registering it was the bard’s arrival that roused him. He can see the beginnings of dawn making way through the ratty shutters, marking the shift from late into early.

This time, Jaskier smells of all the scents one associates with an intense night of debauchery, but also of ongoing, unabated arousal.

Geralt can’t identify any attempt at covering anything, and Jaskier is asleep shortly after his head hits his pillow, with Geralt following shortly.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, there's no internet in the continent, they are doing the best they can.
> 
> As am I, who would like to remind you kudos and comments are a writer's food and water <3
> 
> Ah, you can also find me on Tumblr @ redlightofdawn . Feel free to send me an ask or a prompt!


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